


Exile

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to umakoo's desire for fic based on the extended cut of the Norns scene in <i>Age of Ultron</i>: when Thor comes out of the waters, the vision is not yet ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umakoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/gifts).



> Umakoo put [a call out](http://umakoo.tumblr.com/post/128702992207/fandom-plz-can-we-get-some-smutty-cave-floor) for fic based on the extended version of the Norns scene. For whatever reason my twitchy muse responded, and this ficlet is what came about. It's easy on the smut, heavy on the feels. Because that's how we roll.
> 
> Man, we need more of this stuff, I tell you.
> 
> Incidentally, it got this name because I was finishing it and iTunes started playing me [_Exile Vilify_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-Vg2YS-sFE) and it seemed appropriate. Loki, you jerk.

Strong hands pull him from the water. It lingers still on his skin, the rich mineral taste curling his tongue, making him gag; it doesn’t wish to let him go, not yet. But the hands insist. His own strength falters, but he manages a single final gasp, legs pressing down, helping the other haul him from the Norns-damned pool to the cold rock beyond.

There he falls, slipping from that helpful grasp. He has never been so exhausted, though he would not call this physical. It is the exhaustion of overspent seiðr, for no energy can be given without something else being taken in return. Thor knows storm, he knows thunder and lightning and the scream of wind and rain – this does not come naturally to him. He should not have done this alone.

“Erik?” he croaks. The human must be near. Thor belatedly realises he is weak as a kitten, if the man’s help had seemed so powerful to him. Reaching out a hand, he seeks his saviour – and finds him, a thigh clad in leather and patterned scaled metal—

His eyes snap open. The world is blurred and strange, a kaleidoscope of twisting colour and shape, but the face rising from the gloom is too dear to ever be unfamiliar.

He cannot speak. He only reaches out, draws him close. The other comes without protest, and in that Thor knows he dreams yet. Loki had always allowed him over-familiar touch, would crowd close sometimes as if to remind the world of their shared royal blood, but he had never enjoyed embrace such as this. Thor cannot stand, and so instead curls around his brother, every breath harsh, every muscle aching and burning with bitter acid.

Loki says nothing. It does not matter. Even through the clothes between them, Thor can feel his heartbeat. It is as cruel a sound as it is beautiful. With a sigh he buries his face in the nape of his brother’s neck, breathes him in. Hair catches on damp lips, and he presses a kiss there before he even realises what he has done.

In the unrelenting circle of even his overwrought arms, Loki stiffens. Thor knows he should stop. He had always stopped before. His love, yes – Thor could show Loki his love. It was natural, expected, inevitable. But his desire: no. That was his shame alone. And yet now, Thor’s body still thrums with current and electric charge. Even his exhaustion cannot hide the semi-hard length of his cock, which grows thicker with every moment it is pressed against the curve of Loki’s ass.

His thoughts are tangled, his body distant and strange, but Loki is an anchor in a troubled sea. Hips begin to move even as arms tighten; within moments Thor thrusts weakly against him, shame outweighed by the euphoria of the moment. His brother is dead, and the realms hover upon the edge of total annihilation. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. In this moment, his brother is returned to him. Thor cannot hope to hold back that which he has wanted for so long.

“You should not have done this without me.”

Thor stutters to a stop. Loki’s voice had been clear and low – pleasant, even. Trembling from fatigue and frustrated desire both, he holds himself still, rasps out a reply.

“It had to be done.”

Loki sighs. “You never listened in your lessons. You are like a child seated at a harp, attempting a symphony before he has even mastered a scale. I should have been here.”

“But you’re not here.” The dampness on his cheeks turns salty now. “You’re gone.”

He remains silent as Thor’s shoulders shake, great body wracked with silent misery. It is only when he stills again that Loki shifts, driven by a motion to rise. Thor grasps tight, stricken with sudden panic.

“Thor.” It is sadly spoken. “Let me go.”

He wants to do nothing but. He does so. Loki will free himself should he want it enough. And again, Thor cannot follow him.

And yet Loki does not leave. Thor watches wordless from his prone position as Loki stands, hands rising to the collar of his coat. Little about him seems to have changed – but then, the dead do not change. They go on in memory alone. But this is no memory he had ever been permitted to make: this is Loki shedding leathers and silks, stripping bare before him. Already his cock is half-hard and leaking, rising in dark flush against the white plains of his belly.

Thor’s mouth has gone very dry as Loki kneels beside him. One hand passes soft over his brow, pupils wide in the darkness, searching and sad.

“Brother,” he says, and Thor makes a choked sound low in his throat. Already he is being gentled onto his back, the rough bed of rock pressing into skin and bone. But he does not wish for more, for better. Nothing else matters, for Loki is straddling his hips, pushing down his trousers, leaning down to take his cock deep between welcoming lips.

Thor surges up, gives a strangled cry; his skin is alight with the remnants of lightning strike. With a soft hum, Loki seeks to calm him; from the glint in his eyes, he knew it would do anything but. His arms thrash out, and Thor catches one hand, holds it tight even as Loki presses his tongue up against the base of his cock.

“Loki.” It is all he can say. “ _Loki_.”

Again he hums, and when he pulls back he does it slow and soft; saliva stretches between the tip of his cock and his grinning lips, and Thor shudders with a helpless groan. It is all too much, and too fast – but then his cock throbs so hard he fears it is all too _slow_ , that it will end before he can have want he desires most.

And though he cannot speak the thought aloud, filthy and profane as it is, Loki knows. Loki has always known, perhaps. He is pushing back, the head of Thor’s cock already caught between his buttocks, bracing himself with one hand at the centre of a heaving chest. The other, he uses to reach behind, to guide him in with one easy slide.

Thor cries out. He cannot hold it in. Above him Loki releases one long shuddering breath, stills. A moment later he pulls up, drops down again. The heat of his body is extraordinary, clenching about him with every shift and thrust; Thor’s hips twitch, seek upward. Even in his exhaustion he raises his hands, closes them tightly enough about Loki’s hips that his fingertips will leave deep bruises.

_But the dead do not change._

For now he forgets that, drives it from his mind. It is easy enough to do when his brother takes him to the root and then shifts his hips in lazy alternating circles. Thor answers in kind, then pushes up. Loki gasps, hair dangling in his face as he doubles forward, their foreheads pressed together.

When their lips meet, no other part of them moves. It is some manner of communion – of apology, perhaps. Certainly it tastes of regret, more bittersweet than sour. Then Loki is moving again, taking what he wants from Thor, and that is where his pleasure is most acutely felt. Thor has wanted this for too long. He had never believed Loki could desire the same.

Loki’s spend collects into the hollow of his abdomen; the rhythmic clench of muscle pulls Thor over the same precipice a moment later. He cannot resist raising one shaking hand, running a finger through the white, pressing it to his lips. Loki’s subsequent kiss is furious, somehow, desperately trying to shout at him words without sound nor shape.

Thor is falling. It is not a natural sleep calling him, though he does not fear it. The shift of realities is easy to recognise, even for one who so failed at lessons of pure seiðr and spellcraft. But still he holds his brother tight to him. He cannot stay here. Loki cannot leave. This is not enough.

“But it is what we have,” he murmurs, voice raw and bleeding. And Loki chuckles, a bitter broken sound.

“You were all I ever had.”

Thor’s kiss is gentle, his vision fading, body becoming distant and strange. “I will always be yours.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“Truth exists even without faith.” His hand cups Loki’s jaw, skin tingling with the passage of silent tears. “I love you.”

Loki closes his eyes. “Sometimes I wish you did not.”

Thor smiles. “No. You don’t.”

He never hears Loki’s reply, though he knows in his heart that it would have been cutting and exasperated alike. He’s laughing when he feels the hands shaking him, hears the frantic voice.

“Thor? _Thor!_ ”

When he opens his eyes, he finds the cave arrayed around him in dark ridges, the pool’s waters silent and still. Selvig shakes him again.

“Thor!”

“Be calm, my friend.” He closes a hand about both of his in the fashion of comrades-in-arms; already, he can feel his strength returning. And he smiles. “I am well.”

“But what did you see?”

The smile vanishes. Thor closes his eyes. “I saw much.”

The realms are in danger. It is more than Midgard and Asgard in the balance. Thor is a warrior born, and he had been gifted the power of Mjölnir to enhance those gifts. In return he must use them to both create, and destroy. It is the living who need him now.

Slowly he presses to his feet. “Come, we will speak outside.”

Yet Thor knows he does not leave the dead in the cave behind him. It is impossible. His heart carries them all instead, echoing their memory with every beat. And he smiles, even with this clear view of the grim road stretching before him. He knows what he must do now.

_I do it for all of us._

“Come,” he repeats. “Let us finish this.”

_And one day, when all is done, I will see you again_.

The sun is too bright. He keeps his head up, and walks straight into its welcoming heat.


End file.
